Pineapple leaves a bad taste

You could lose days in the Pineapple - well, I could. I doubt Paula Radcliffe could, or Tony Blair, or the imam of Regent's Park mosque. People who like pubs, however, will know what I mean when I say there was a time in your life when sitting in a pub all day was OK. When you didn't have much else to do, you didn't look like an alcoholic - just young - and didn't wake the next day with a face like an elephant's arse.

Some pubs just invite settling in. It's the little fireplaces, the lush pub colours of cheap red velvet, tobacco walls, glowing copper-topped tables and brown glossy wood. The frosted windows stencilled with Ind Coope in gold keep the outside out and a bit of nostalgia in. The ale community doesn't laud the London Pride, Marston's Pedigree and Adnams here but, relative to other old-school pubs with young management - a female at that - they do respect it. The Pineapple has soul - an inviting, womb-like quality that gastropubs, even the finest, rarely have.

Downstairs there is a simple menu of curry, shepherd's pie, bacon and egg panini - that sort of thing. Upstairs there is a dining roomwhich lets the place down - and badly. They need to make some big changes upstairs to join the ranks of this city's decent gastroboozers.

First, the chairs are hard, upright and profoundly uncomfortable. Second, the food's weak and unprofessional, but then neither is it endearingly amateur and home-cooked. The roast beets in my goats' cheese salad were rubbery, the sweet earthiness had gone kinda funky, the cheese was asexually mild. Tagliatelle with king prawn and lobster bisque was really pasta and a fragrant shellfish cream - it had none of the pungent crustacean flavour the name suggested. Brother William liked it, though.

Not so his steak, 'low grade, chewy', and the peppercorn sauce, 'ridiculously peppery'. Normandy fish stew did not chime with any memories I have of French fish stews. It was a mix of vegetables, shellfish, white fish, salmon and a lot of heavy cream, and it resembled a Marmite dieppoise - except that the omission of many ingredients meant it tasted, largely, of cream. The chips were from the freezer - always a shame. An upside: sweet service from a pretty waitress.

The Pineapple is a popular place, the locals love it, outsiders love it (my sister, an East London girl, raves about it), the staff love it. The young, handsome barman said, 'It's just amazing, no one ever fights, they have the best music, the best atmosphere.' I know a talented chef who would love to take over the kitchen at the Pineapple. It would be a pleasure to play cupid.